Feather-like
by gemini in tauro
Summary: Viktor would think of it as inhumane. But everything humane was bound to be profane, and even if profane felt good, it was such an ephemeral award with such eternal punishment just awaiting to those who gave themselves to its enchantments, embracing it content knowing it wasn't out of their reach. Viktor wanted more, though, more than humane, more than profane. He wanted beyond it


**Tittle:** _Feather-like._

 **Summary:** «Viktor, with that golden-tainted, white plume in his hands, would think of it as inhumane. But everything humane was bound to be profane, and even if profane felt good, it was such an ephemeral award with such eternal punishment just awaiting to those who gave themselves to its enchantments, embracing it content knowing it wasn't out of their reach. Viktor wanted more, though, more than profane, more than humane; he wanted beyond it.»

 **Reason behind this:** Russian Weekend(Princesa Andrmeda compromised herself to translate this, so I'll give her time), obsession with "feather-like" and terms that drive people out of their mind for overthinking it. I hope I reached my expectatives, and that it leaves _thee_ thinking.

 **Inspiration:** now that I come to think about it, it may be "Wonderland" of Natalia Kills and, huh, guess you guessed right, "Take me to Church."

 **Some fair warning:** Uh, Catholic references—perhaps?—, angel believings and… a boy/boy relationship? And don't forget the most important: this is half-beta'ed. What means the rest it isn't. And my English might be a little bad so… I tried :')

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Feather-like.

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 _«The only Heaven I will be send to, is when I'm alone with you.»_

—Take me to Church, cover by Morgan James in cooperation with Postmodern Jukebox.

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Sometimes Viktor would proclaim himself as profane. He would spoke himself impure, he would ask all the goddesses in Earth and Heaven to cast him out of their realms. He would pray for the salvation of every single soul in Earth but his; for every little bastard that runs out freely in the street but for the one that inhabited his body; for every single _wrong-pathed_ among straight people, but for his very own feet, whose not only walked the wrong way, but stood still against every morality he was raised with. With every single commandment he was told, with everything he was supposed to stood for, to protect.

Sometimes he would forget it, sometimes he would not. In those peaceful, sky-clear nights, he would plead the stars, to those supposedly goddesses that were awaiting humans to leave the kind of life he was living, so full of mistakes and bad-taken decisions, searchin—no, yearning an answer from them. So sad that the only language stars knew was that of wishes, and he spoke it so badly he could ask them no questions. He was probably one in a million, and even if he was an exception over something he shouldn't be, he would nod and be a little—but just a little—proud of himself.

…sometimes he would not. Sometimes he would not be at the verge of paradise, he would lose control of himself, of his inner demons, his angels, his humanity. And maybe he loved it (it is just a probability, though, so he couldn't count on it). Sometimes he would forget those commandments he was given since birth, those rules, those manners, those _everything_ he learned, and dedicated himself for tasting something beyond humanly pure, beyond an untainted boy's naïveness whose parents wouldn't tell about Santa's inexistence, beyond everything humanly expected.

Because the flesh he would long for, wasn't human-looking. That skin, would be even more white and untouched than Russia's snow, until his bites would redden it, mark it. _Humane_ it.

Because the lips he would taste, would remind him but such. That fragile-looking flesh, would be cherries for his lips until he would break it, and bring a metal flavor out of it.

Because the one he would pursuit, wasn't who everyone would expect him to pursuit. Not expect, nor approve, that is.

Sometimes he would forget it, sometimes he would not. But what was that about?

Viktor even reflected if he had a soul of his own. People—wise people—always said that knowledge would bring bad things to his soul—always looking for the perfect soul, huh?—and damned he be if he acquired knowledge more than necessary. In times before his, the only people who were privatized from knowledge where who couldn't afford it or whom had to maintain virginity in all of matters possible. So why to keep him in the shadows? He'd know it someday. Not now, not today, but he was sure about one day he would, for he was getting all the knowledge he could. Only if to see how much soul he had left by the end of his life. Only if to ascertain if he still had one, to begin with.

People would say their prayers. Even if they tried not to commit any sins, they were humans, and humans were sin-committer created machines, ready to jump from one to another sin. If they weren't looking for one material, they still had that stupid desire of salvation after death, of the promise of an eternal life, joyness. And so they try to follow the path. And so they would fall. And from his own corner, Viktor was almost sure he would undoubtedly watch them, until they cracked out their last remaining of sanity. Until they had no remnant left of their own human facade. When they had nothing left to chase or lose, and he would feel nothing. He would feel nothing, for they wouldn't see his soul, so dark and impure to ever being imagined.

Sometimes he would forget it, sometimes he would not. Had this even had a significance? Or it was just a mantra he would follow, in order not to fall as low as other humans, not to be like them? He would be damned if he followed their path.

"You're beautiful" Yuri would do as if the compliment did nothing to him, when Viktor knew otherwise, since the heat in his cheeks obviously wasn't because of their rather intimate situation. Yuri was as much aware as he of what the intimacy, the heat, him inside him, meant. Of what carried on with it; and he didn't seemed to mind it.

"Shaddup" and he would hush him with a shy and maybe petulant peck, that would later become something more profound, more desirable, more demanding. More humane.

Viktor's favorite part of Yuri's body was definitely his hips. They had some kind of enchantment in them, that seemed to remind him of small princesses or little ballerina dancers, both of them resembling much his way to go, but not exactly like him in certain circumstances. Would they retort if he kissed them like this? If he touched their hips? If he told them he wanted to absorb from them more than just their beauty? If he sucked their skin like this? Would they even be capable of fornicate with him, keep the same rhythm as him, let out inhibited moans, scream his name in pleasure? Would they be capable of resembling something so intimate of Yuri, or would they shy away?

Figured it out as much.

Meant more for teasing rather than foreplaying, he would do a trail of little humid kisses through every part of his hips, looking for sensitive parts (translation, every single centimeter) and having the gratificant sensation of Yuri contorting under his touch, under his lips. Yuri would say no word against this, for he would be containing louder screams of pleasure, that begged for him to get over with his torture.

And he would do it. And finally, Yuri would let his name out in a thankful, sensual way.

In appearance, his favorite part of Yuri's body was the hips. He liked to think so. At least, for teasing purpose. When Yuri would sleep, however, he would watch him and look for him. And he would recognize feathers surrounding two little openings in his back, that seemed to be contained from their full length. Who would say that even in his sleep Yuri would try and keep his dirty little secret, even if he knew that Viktor had known it all along?

He loved his back. He loved trying to rip it out with his nails while they were exercising, seeking for those anomalies that he admired every morning, when the sun was about to rise, when his brain overworked itself.

A few times, he had taken away such beautifully phenomenal plumes. He knew Yuri knew it, even if he wouldn't bring up the topic, or spoke about his back aching, or jump from the pain he would be greeted when having one feather less.

Sometimes he would forget it, sometimes he would not. Who was he to say?

He would trace his back with one of his fingers, try and touch that angelical—perhaps a little more than the average "literally" he'd been greeted with all his life—shoulder, or that countenance of his, when he was fast asleep, and when he would take his hair out of the way to admire him, and see that he was beyond human naïveness.

He would take a feather between his fingers, and admire its looks from the sunshine that would made its way in through the window, and he would adore it.

Viktor, with that golden-tainted, white plume in his hands, would think of it as inhumane. But everything humane was bound to be profane, and even if profane felt good, it was such an ephemeral award with such eternal punishment just awaiting to those who gave themselves to its enchantments, embracing it content knowing it wasn't out of their reach. Foolishly believing it would change something in themselves.

Viktor wanted more, though, more than profane, more than humane; he wanted beyond it. That's why he was doing what he was doing. That's why he wasn't praying for himself every night, that's why he wasn't bothered for not learning the language of wishes, that's why he wasn't affected by Yuri's real being.

"I desire only you."

"Liar." He would answer Viktor, only to sit between his legs and untie his tie. He would do a little friction between them and start a path of kisses from his neck until where his t-shirt would allow him to. Then, he would rip it off with his fingers, caring naught for the rags between his hands. Viktor would respond. He would coin his cheek with one of his hands, and drink goddesses' elyxir from his lips.

There was no way out of him. Out of it. Out of them.

But Viktor was glad with it, as long it wasn't humane, and even if it was feather-like.

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Finis.

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 **Notes:** not really sure if it makes sense, if it really has significance, or if it doesn't. I only know I kind of… didn't write it, the words just flooded out of my fingers.

Hope ya'll enjoyed the ride, and hopefully won't praise negatively. Constructive feedback is always welcome, but I rather not have flames, I have no fire extinguisher, so sorry. So if _thee_ came only to criticize for the pairing, then I'll ask you to go without provoking a ruckus. Thank you!

—gem—


End file.
